


Just a Wives Tale?

by Branwen_Merla



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Blood, Drinking, F/M, Immortals, Implied Sexual Content, Magic, Masks, Mild Sexual Content, Mild Smut, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Purewelt Orden, Ravens, Verrat, Wesen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 01:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4646469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Branwen_Merla/pseuds/Branwen_Merla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sean Renard begins having strange dreams after seeing a mysterious woman at a tavern. But are they just dreams, or something long forgotten?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Wives Tale?

**Author's Note:**

> Very dot pointy, and lots of commas. Probably fix it up later... 
> 
> The basic idea is there though, and it was my first introduction to Branwen Merla ^_^ After which she became my constant original character for pretty much all my stories. Like all alter egos, there's a long story behind how I came to make her. I have never looked back :)
> 
> Hope you enjoy my sort of jumpy fanfic, and can see past the crappyness to the actual story I was trying to poorly articulate.

“Is there a problem here?”

A woman’s voice cuts through the roughhousing yells in the tavern. Once a scene of a bar brawl, the inn was now completely quiet. The two men whom she approached, eyes went wide. Her eyes glistened royal purple, as her black cloak swirled around her, like she had just landed on the floor. Her silky onyx black hair fell loosely to one side, the other pulled back with raven feathers. Whispers arose from some of the other patrons.

_“Is she…?”_

_“No way. He doesn’t exist…”_

_“He was just a bed time story…”_

_“…wives tale to scare the children…”_

Her ruby red lipsticked lips grinned wickedly at one of the men who were previously fighting.

“Play nice children, or I shall have to punish you... And we wouldn’t want that, would we?” The woman says as parting words, then looks up at the ceiling to the security camera. Her eyes change back to emerald green, before blowing a kiss to whom she knows will eventually watch the tape.

*

The police enter and swarm the bar, grabbing the patrons left, right, and centre. A black haired detective approaches a darker skinned one. “Who called this in?” He asks.

“That woman over there. Are we going to question everyone, or let the uniforms do it?”

“There’s too many. Maybe just a few, after we question the woman who reported this incident.”

They conclude their discussion and head towards her.

The black haired man introduced himself as detective Nick Burkhardt whilst his partner was detective Hank Griffin. They asked questions about who started the fight and how it was resolved.

As the woman answered all their questions, Nick was looking around at the scene. Many of the customers who were being questioned appeared scared – and it showed. Their faces changed briefly into animals, then back again just as quickly. The woman, seemingly human, was allowed to leave, and Hank entered the bar where their captain and Nick now awaited. They all file in to the back room where the security feed was located, and shut the door. Nick revealed that more than 80 percent of the patrons where scared out of their mind, and those frightened 80 percent were Wesen.

*

The three watched the security tape over and over. It was exactly like the woman said. Two men began fighting and it became a bar brawl. A pale skinned, black haired beauty approached them, spoke, they became frightened (as well as many of the patrons), blew a kiss to the camera and then left. They felt they were missing something. Why did this seemingly ordinary woman approach the two Wesen? Was it to calm the situation? Did she know they were Wesen? What did she say to them?

“Doesn’t she look a lot like that woman we questioned, who called it in?” mumbled the Filipino Sgt Drew Wu. No one heard him.

Nick noticed the captain had the tape paused on the woman blowing the kiss.

“Do you know her?” He asked, catching Captain Sean Renard off guard.

“No.” He answered almost too quickly, “…Yet… something about her is familiar.” He says, staring at the raven feathers adorning her hair, then back to her glowing green eyes that seemed to stare directly at him.

*

Nick decides to go to his friend Monroe’s house to chat about the mysterious woman and why his kind seemed so scared of her.

“Was it just the Blutbaden? We don’t have many natural enemies, so it’d be easy to narrow it down.”

“That’s the weird thing… it was all the Wesen.” Nick answered.

“All Wesen?” Rosalee, Monroe’s girlfriend, commented, whilst walking into the room with cups of tea. “Can you tell us anything about what she looked like or what the patrons were saying when you questioned them?”

Nick described the pale woman and what happened on the tape. Rosalee and Monroe exchanged a look.

“I can only think of-” She began.

“Can’t be… he’s just a legend.” Monroe continued.

“What is it?” Nick said a little impatiently.

“It’s a story that all Wesen tell their children to get them to behave. When threatening them with a Grimm doesn’t work, they bring HIM up. Hang on, I think I have an old fairytale book around here somewhere.” Monroe says, as he begins rummaging around.

Nick gives Monroe a smirk.

“What? It’s childhood memories.” He shrugs a little defensively.

“Ah, here we are.” He says whilst holding up a battered and dusty old children’s book. He blows off some of the dust and clears his throat. “Branwen Merle or in this case Merla. Welsh Arthurian legend name of the daughter of [Llŷr](http://www.20000-names.com/male_l_names_3.htm#LLYR) in the _Mabinogion_ , composed of the elements _bran_ "raven" and _gwen_ "fair, white," hence "fair raven." She’s a thing of stories, fiction.”

“Meaning?” Nick asks.

“Meaning she’s new for everyone. Legend says a god, or shall I say… goddess. Immortal, can’t be killed.” Monroe replies, flipping through the book.

“Great.” Nick sighs.

“That’s not the best bit. For all intense purposes, she is physically human… sort of. Although she can shape change into a black fox or raven. She is stealthy, can turn water to ice, can use feathers like arrows… and many more wonderful feats.”

“So we have yet another super powerful, evil Wesen running around hurting people?”

“She’s not Wesen, we can’t do that… and she isn’t evil.” He pauses. “She’s true neutral, but generally doesn’t hurt innocent people without reason.” Monroe glances at Rosalee.

“What aren’t you telling me? Why were all those Wesen scared out of their minds?” Nick presses.

“You mean minus the fact she’s immortal and a myth?” Monroe asks.

“She’s like you.” Rosalee comments again.

“What?” Nick asks, confused.

“Think of her as a Grimm on Steroids.” Monroe says, hoping to make Nick understand.

“It is odd, though.” Rosalee mutters loudly, “everyone knew that Grimms are real, they were throughout history… but not her. She has never appeared…”

“…Until now.” Nick nods, understanding the situation. “So, how do we handle it?”

“We don’t.” Monroe jumps in. “She is the highest on the hierarchy. Higher than Wesen, Grimms, The Council…. If she is helping keep the peace, leave her.”

Nick grins. “You are scared of her, aren’t you?”

“Uh, yeah. She can explode you with a mere snap of her fingers. Literally.”

“Shouldn’t we at least try to talk to her?” Nick asks Rosalee.

Rosalee looks at Monroe who is now behind Nick, shaking his head rapidly and mouthing the word ‘no’.

“You could try… if you can find her. Sorry Nick, we can’t help you in this.”

“I understand.” Nick says before leaving their house.

*

Back in the precinct, Wu, Nick, Hank, and Captain Sean Renard have a meeting in Renards office to discuss the best way to handle this situation. Wu and Hank both believe that this myth wouldn’t hurt a regular human, whereas Nick and The Captain aren’t too sure.

After the meeting, Nick is the first to leave. Deep in thought, he heads to his car in the lit parking lot. The sound of beating wings brings him out of his musing. He looks up to see a sleek raven perch on the streetlight. It tilts his head while eyeing him, evaluating him.

_“Weird to have a raven out at night.”_ Nick thinks to himself. The raven blinks slowly, whilst staring at him.

“… Branwen Merla?...” Nick asks aloud, keeping his eye on the bird. The raven seems to grin, as it tilts its head to the other side. Nicks intuition is telling him that he didn’t just imagine that acknowledgement. “I would like to speak with you.” After what seemed like a long silence, the raven caws once, then flies off. Nick sighs. “This is going to be difficult.”

*

Captain Renard is the last to leave the precinct. He heads straight home to his hidden abode, which only his mother knows about. Nothing seems amiss as he has a drink of expensive scotch, and goes to bed.

Renard awakes to find himself standing in the forest, in clothes that are not his own. He hears the sound of water splashing, then a gentle and carefree hum fills the air. Being drawn by the enchanting melody, he pushes through the trees to a firefly-lit clearing. His eyes widen slightly as he is taken aback by the scene that is illuminated in front of him. Flecks of silver stardust flicker in the air, as small amounts of water raise up from the lakes surface - leaving it behind to swirl patterns in the sky, seemingly dancing to the singing. Blue moonlight filters through the willow trees adorning the lake, coming to rest on the mysterious woman who is singing such a haunting song. The woman is sitting naked on a rock, back to him, as she brushes her long black, wet hair with her fingers. Renard blinks several times, trying to discern whether this is vision is real, or if he is dreaming. She senses his presence and turns her head slightly, smiling and motioning for him to join her.

“I was waiting for you, my love.” The woman says happily.

A moonbeam catches something shining in the distance, blinding Renard temporarily. When he opens his eyes once again, he is back in his pyjamas, yet not home. He is not sure where - or when - he is, as there are cold cobblestones beneath his feet and flickering fire torches on the walls. All he knows is, he is no longer in Portland. A steady, yet loud noise snaps Renard back to reality (so to speak) - the sound of fast, approaching footsteps. Being the chief of police in Portland, and not knowing if it were friend of foe, he stood his ground. A couple, dressed in full masquerade ball outfits, rounded the corner and stopped only meters in front of him, breathing heavily.

“My darling, we must continue.” The man insisted. Renard knew that voice… but from where?

There was a shout in the distance.

The masked man and woman both look back towards whence they came, seemingly ignoring Renard. He stepped toward them, to offer help, yet they took off running once again, hand in hand into the alley behind him. What took him by surprise, however, was not that they ignored him… but the fact that they literally ran right through him. Coming to the understanding that he was in fact in the past, and that he had to view what was unfolding, he followed the lovers into the dead end alley. Only seconds later, the angry mob appeared. They were clad in black hooded robes, some smartly dressed, all with guns and/or fire. The men in the suits immediately showed their hand. They were Hundjäger. Undoubtedly Verrat.

“Purewelt Orden!” The black masked woman yelled in panic.

The Verrat took this as an opportunity to attack. They aimed their guns and shot. Renard witnessed the man shield his lover from the barrage of bullets. Few hit him in the torso and, as he fell to the ground, his golden porcelain mask shattered, revealing his face.

Renard gasped. It was him. It was his face under that mask.

The group, seemingly pleased with the outcome so far, watched the man’s lover sob, as he cupped her cheek with a bloodied hand.

“I will find you again, my love.” She whispered.

“Until we meet again…” He choked, as he spat up blood.

His hand went limp, and her shoulders stopped shaking. All there was, was silence. A steady gust of wind began to blow. Ravens, from out of nowhere, perched one by one on the surrounding rooftops. A strong aura began to resonate from the silent woman kneeling over her dead partner. A quiet maniacal chuckle, followed by an eerie smile came from those ruby red lipsticked lips. The woman stood up slowly and turned around. Her onyx ballgown blew restlessly in the wind, as did her raven black hair, which had come undone from all the running. The silent audience of birds cawed to signal the fight.

The Verrat sprinted forward.

“Bad idea.” Were the only words that left her mouth, in a low growl.

With one sweep of the womans arm, they were all pin cushions of poisoned, sharp raven feathers. The Verrat fell quickly. One minute the woman was in front of Purewelt Orden, in a blink of an eye, she was behind them. She was crouched low, with her head down. As she flicked her head up, Renard noticed her mask was no longer on her face. He gasped in obvious shock. Not by how she seemed to stare right at him, because he knew that was not possible, and not by the bloodlust revenge anger in her dark purple, almost black eyes… but by the fact that he recognised her. It was the mysterious woman from the lake and bar surveillance tape. She sneered maliciously as she once again leapt into action.

The scene which Renard witnessed, he could not easily explain. It went by so quickly, in a cloud of blood mist and raven feathers.

Unsurprisingly, the last one standing was the woman. Surrounded by bodies, blood, and raven feathers. Tattered, ripped, and bloodstained ball gown, smudged lipstick, wild messy hair and dripping with blood, the woman brushed aside a feather and picked up something shining on the bloodied cobblestone. Barefoot, she began walking.

Appearing like teleportation, Renard arrived at the lake. The woman sat on the same rock he had seen her on, only moments before. She looked like a zombie with her dead, lifeless eyes staring out over the water. She began to mutter something. Unable to hear her from where he was standing, Renard stepped up beside her to listen. Of all the languages he spoke, he did not understand the one she was currently using. She stood up and threw with all her might the golden item that she had picked up, into the lake. With a roar, the woman stamped her foot as hard as she could onto the water’s surface, freezing it solid.

*

Renard woke up with a start. Looking around, he realised he was once again in his bedroom, properly awake. Breathing a sigh of relief, he stood up to get a glass of water. As he placed his feet on the floor, he felt something sticky. And warm. He looked down to see he was covered in blood. He ripped open his pyjama shirt to reveal his four bullet hole scars from his previous police related shooting, and a few fresh ones.

*

Pacing back and forth in his office, Renard gets briefed by Nick about the previous night with the raven in the parking lot. Renard keeps his dream to himself. Hank and Wu also bring up that they have had fleeting feelings of being watched. Nick notices The Captain is a little restless. Renard just shrugs him off saying lack of sleep. Nick insists The Captain to go home and relax, he agrees reluctantly.

Leaving the precinct, Renard overhears a conversation between children running past, towards the woods.

“Mum told me about it!”

“What, a lake in the woods?”

“Yeah! And it’s always frozen! Even during the hottest days! It never melts!”

“You’re lying, you liar!”

“Nuh uh, it’s true! A sad lady froze it and when she finds her love again, the ice will melt like her heart. Mum told me! She said that her mum, and grams, and grams’ grams, and generations of mums told their kids about the story.”

“What does generation mean?”

“I think it means old, wrinkly people…”

The children disappear amongst the scrub. Renard decides to inspect the lake at night, when there are no crowds.

*

Late that night, Renard pushes past some bushes and emerges in the clearing. He instinctively remembered the way. Was it from his dream? He wasn’t sure. But he knew he had to be there. Remembering his dream vision, he approached the lake and inspected it. Something glinted under the surface. With a gloved hand, he wiped away some of the precipitation, allowing him to see the shining object clearer. It was a fragment of the golden mask that past him had been wearing, the night he was killed.

Renard felt his chest begin to burn. His shirt suddenly felt damp and it clung to his skin. He put a hand to his chest, and used his other to prop himself up on the ice. In the pale moonlight he raised his hand to his face. Warm and sticky blood clung to his glove. Droplets landed on the ice, staining it red. As if reacting to the blood, the ice began to crack. The cracks mingled with the blood, circling the mask piece. As the ice fell away, the golden fragment bobbed to the surface of the water underneath. The pain subsided as he grasped the fragment tightly in his hand, taking it out of the water.

*

Arriving home, Sean Renard takes off his trench coat and hangs it on the hat stand near the front door. He begins to undo his shirt and cuffs as he crosses the room, placing the golden mask fragment carefully on his bookcase. It sparkled slightly in the light.

Renard began to pour himself a scotch. He stopped abruptly when he heard a noise come from his bedroom. He put the bottle down and, whilst taking his gun out of his holster, he silently crept along the wall. Swinging around the corner, Renard switched on the light and raised his gun in one quick motion.

Sitting on his bed delicately with one pale white leg over the other, was a black cloaked woman. Her hood hid her face, but he was sure of who it was as raven feathers littered his room. She stood up from where she was perched on the end of his bed and, while stepping towards him, she lowered her hood. Automatically, he took a step back – lowering his gun.

She chuckled. “You’ve dropped your guard,” she points out, her voice sounding like the wind gently rustling in the trees. Her green eyes glimmered and bore into his as she stepped forward again.

Renard stiffens. He won’t admit it, but he is a little afraid of her. His mother used to tell him the stories when he misbehaved. It was a little worrying when even she shook with fear. His body betrayed his logical reasoning, however, as his heart flipped in his chest. How can he love this woman, when he has only just met her? He furrowed his brow slightly.

“Where did you get that?” She growls as her eyes shift to focus on something behind him. She darts past him - paying him no mind - and swipes the fragment from his bookcase. Leaving herself wide open for a surprise attack, he sweeps her legs. With a thud, she lands on the floor, the fragment leaving her hand.

It rolls across the floor and Renard scoops it up. The woman gets into a crouch position, glaring, eyes changing colour. Those eyes that had such vengeful anger only moments before, suddenly widen as the woman stares at both the fragment and Renard - finally seeing ‘him’ for the first time. Eyes turning back to green, they begin to drift over his body, stopping on the scars on his chest and his bloodied shirt. She collapses onto the floor, hanging her head and muttering in the same unknown language he had heard during his dream. Renard took a step closer and, ignoring the fact she could be chanting some sort of spell, offered her his hand. She raised her head slowly, and met his gaze with tear smeared face. Taking his hand, he sat her on the couch and offered her a cup of tea.

“Have anything stronger?” She smiled, a smile mixed with confusion, embarrassment, and awkwardness. A completely different person to the woman wanting to kill him only an hour or so before.

Renard hands her some newly opened wine. She reaches for the bottle, rather than the glass.

“Alright.” He shrugs as he sits down next to her, “What do they call you?”

She stares at him for several moments whilst chugging the wine, before lowering the bottle. “Several things,” she answered plainly. “One of which literally means ‘she of many names’, but my birth name is Velore.”

They sat in silence for a while, drinking. Renard began to feel lust building inside him as he glanced at her from the corner of his eye. He felt this way when he first saw the security feed that night, which is why he had it paused on her. He had watched it again, many times after – but that he kept to himself. He didn’t know why, but he wasn’t complaining. She was sitting there, right next to him. If he reached out, he could touch her silky smooth hair, her pale white skin, her shapely breasts… Renard swallows a large mouthful of scotch, feeling his pants get slightly tighter.

“What is it?” Velore asked, feeling his eyes on her and making him twitch. She turns to him and grins cheekily, her face a little flushed from the three bottles of alcohol she had already downed. She reaches for another bottle, but Renard grabs her arm before she manages to snag it. Something stirs within him as he squeezes her wrist slightly before letting it go. Cocking an eyebrow and keeping eye contact, Velore slides one hand over his forearm, and the other over his shoulder.

It feels like an electric jolt. Renards Zauberbiest comes out momentarily then disappears. “Well, that’s interesting.” She says almost seductively, running her hand down his chest. That was it. He couldn’t control it anymore. An uncontrollable lascivious feeling wells up inside his chest as he pushes her down onto the couch. She looks legitimately surprised as he hovers over her, his eyes gleaming with passionate fire. Her own green eyes are wide, as he shifts and pins her hands above her head, with one of his own. The other propping him up. He can feel his Zauberbiest flicker on and off his face, but he doesn’t care. He forcefully kisses Velore, and hears her let out a small moan.

“Sean…” she breathes, as he nips at her bottom lip. His heated kisses travel hungrily down the crook of her neck, stopping on her clavicle. A sweet pain shoots through her collarbone as he proceeds to drag his teeth across her chest, biting her once, twice, three times.

He was hungry. His body wanted her badly, and he didn’t care if he left marks. History showed him that she was his for all eternity, linked by some unknown thread of fate.

His rough hands slid into her cloak and ran over her silky skin, releasing her wrists from his grasp. She was free now. She gripped his back in pleasure, as she scratched her claw-like nails down. He growled, but not in anger, the mix of pleasure and pain spurring him on. He hadn’t felt anything like this before, even when he slept with Adalind Schade.

Velore didn’t mind the roughness, she actually REALLY enjoyed it. She was not sure whether it was the high of the alcohol or the fact that her body yearned for his. It had been at least several decades since that fateful night – or was it several centuries? She had lost count, and with it, hope. The anticipation was killing her, but she intended to make him work for it. It was his fault for leaving her, she didn’t need to be protected. She felt he should be punished by her hand.

“Should we move this to the bedroom?” Velore gasped through heated kisses. The open, glass windows making her slightly uncomfortable.

Renard ignored her, determined to feel every inch of her skin. Annoyed by the lack of acknowledgement, she half growled/half moaned, purple eyes shifting behind him to where his bedroom door was ajar. With a flick of her wrist Renard went flying through the air, through the door, and crashing into the dresser. She stood from the floor, adjusting her cloak, and began sauntering towards him, hips swinging sexily side to side. She entered the bedroom only seconds before Renard tackled her with pent up frustration, knocking her to the ground.

He WILL have her. She will not tease him any longer.

With animalistic fury, his hands ripped off her cloak and her light clothes underneath. He then proceeded to remove his own pants with speed, ignoring his shirt as it was already destroyed, nothing more than rags hanging off him in tatters. He noticed her smirk and paused briefly, only to be pushed forward by a voice in his head screaming at him to show no mercy. Looking down at her naked body, he grinned like a Mauvais Dentes whom had just caught their prey.


End file.
